A Life Undone
by monksmama
Summary: Edward Masen goes to sleep an older sucsessful businessman and wakes his eighteen year old self. Why has he gone back and what changes will he make when he can do it all again?
1. The Machine

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of Twilight**

**I just own some crazy ideas for her characters**

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I swirl the scotch in my glass and turn my head towards the staircase just outside my library. I can't hear the tell tale rapid fire of the ridiculous heels I'm sure I paid a small fortune for. Nor can I hear the grumble of the whirlpool jets. I check the clock, 1:30 she certainly must be passed out by now. The way she came in, stinking of liquor, cigarettes and god only knows who she could not have been far from total incoherency. Not that she ever really is. I'll give her another half hour at least. It's not worth the risk.

I start the cleanup of my paperwork. Piles here and there, to review and already reviewed. One pile filled with problems and inconsistencies, yet another to throw into my briefcase and take back to the office. Takeovers are never easy or pleasant but the volume of paperwork on this one is sure to be the death of me. I could always just pass it off to the underlings. I would certainly not be the first to do so. But I just don't trust them. Not that any of them would be stupid enough to purposely cross me. The perfect mix of fear and respect I have built through the years is insurance enough of that. No, they are all too eager to please the boss that cannot be pleased, strive to meet his lofty expectations. And therein lays the reasoning for my distrust. It is still all a game to them, the money, the prestige the accolades. They are invested emotionally in one way or another. Selfishly of course, a bleeding heart has never remained on my payroll long. They remain consumed by the glory of the business and not the business itself. And that leads to mistakes, oversights and more work on my part in the end anyway. Trust is irresponsible, a weakness and thoroughly overrated.

No, it really is better this way. This is why I have earned my reputation. Cold, calculating, a machine, all distinctions I hold with pride. I worked hard for them. Spent my life consumed in my work. I am meticulous, dedicated and unstoppable. There is a good reason I was top of my class, rose quickly through the ranks until I was overthrowing the men that helped build me. I am the best. I always have been. I have an unparallel sixth sense of the intentions of my adversaries that has served me well. I'll be damned if I let something as trivial as trust in the underlings be my downfall.

I turn back to my laptop and check my inbox one last time tonight. Nothing so important it can't wait for the morning. I just don't have it in me to answer any more unnecessary questions tonight. The wait can be their penance for stupidity. I am just about to close my window when a new message pops up, another question on the Petersen file. At almost two in the morning? I add the underling's name to my palm. That will be one to watch. I can transfer him to my current team. Maybe I'll bring him on the next trip to Tacoma. Every employer wants a dedicated employee, but I am aware enough to recognize the same characteristics of myself when I see them. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. Yes, he will be one to watch. Congratulations on your promotion Mr…….Mehta. Hopefully you are not dedicated enough to get yourself fired.

I switch off the laptop and toss it in the bag with my documents for tomorrow. I throw back the last of my scotch and slowly start up the stairs to my room. I take careful consideration to keep quiet by her door.

I start undoing my cufflinks before I reach the door, which is why I don't notice it had been left ajar until I was too late. I am overcome with annoyance when I see her red blond hair spilled out on my pillows. What the hell is she doing here? One of the cardinal rules: leave me and my things alone. Jesus, do I have to put up signs? I know she isn't that stupid. She is dressed in some ridiculous excuse for lingerie. Her breasts, that I also paid for are practically hanging out of it. I stifle a chuckle, like I would touch that even with someone else's dick.

I look over and see a wrapped box on my nightstand. Lord, what have I bought myself now? She knows how unnecessary this is. She knows it is only she that can be bought or have we not established _that_ well enough? I wonder what she could possibly be after now. I snag the box off the nightstand and head to my bathroom, careful as always to not wake her.

Under the too bright lights of my bathroom, I open the medicine cabinet and pull out my Ambien. Hmm….one or two? Two am now, want to be in the office by six thirty. Meeting with Jensen and Schmidt at seven and with those two idiots I'm sure to need the allotted two hours to get through to them. Better make it just one. I don't want to be sluggish when trying to cram information into them.

I swallow my pill and pick up the box, unwrapping it as quietly as I can. It is a watch. April 24th I suppose. Breguet, she has done well this year. I remove last year's model from my wrist and leave it on the countertop for the maid. Surprisingly, most of all to me, Irina is one of the few people I can actually stand. A Russian immigrant, she is astonishingly well read and we have spent many an hour discussing the sad state of Tolstoy post translation. I'm not sure what exactly it is she does with the cast offs I leave to her. I suppose her husband must have a fondness for watches. A genuine collection not caused by an incredibly uncreative wife. I wonder what I got her this year. I'll have to email the brunette admin tomorrow. I hope she had sent something appropriate; I would really hate to have to fire her. She is punctual, professional and a lesbian so at least I never have to be concerned with an inappropriate relationship. Those admins are one of the banes of my existence.

I shower quickly and go to strap on my new watch before heading out to dress. I notice for the first time the inscription on the back. It is so small it is hard to make out.

_Time and love _

_Are all we have_

_One never knows _

_when either will run out_

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I don't love her. I never have and she knows it. So time is running out? Shall I keep my eye out for a hit man? Lord, that woman gets crazier by the day.

I sneak back through my room and head for our joint dressing room. I spare her one more glance. In the moonlight, her face relaxed and peaceful I can almost see the ghost of the girl I married. No, I never really loved her but she never loved me either. She loved the money, the prestige, the attractive man on her arm bringing her to all the places she wanted to be. And I needed a home life or at least the illusions of one. I needed a pretty girl on my arm to introduce to colleagues and throw formal dinners and holiday parties. We are a well matched pair in that sense. Ours is a marriage of nothing more than a compilation of shallow wants and needs. Well needs except for sex of course, not anymore. I don't share and she apparently does so that was the end of that. Not for her trying though. I think back to that lingerie. No thanks.

But in all the ways that matter, to me at least, she is the perfect wife. Even in spite of the breaking and entering. She leaves me alone for the most part. She occupies herself with her pool boys and my money. And, she knows exactly when to flash her very expensive perfect smile and drag someone else's wife off the sitting room. Best of all, she never wanted children. Thank god the two of us had never been cruel enough to bring anyone else into this. I'll have to make sure she did get a worthy gift at least.

I detour through the dressing room grabbing my suit for tomorrow and head for the largest guest bedroom at the end of the hall. I haven't been in this wing in quite awhile and am pleased to find Irina has everything perfectly arranged. I head for the bed. I can feel the Ambien making my eyelids droop and for the first time notice the collection of photographs on the far wall. I grimace as I take them in. I had told Irina to get rid of them after the wife had gone through the scrapbooking phase and placed them in my room.

One in particular holds my attention more than the others. I haven't seen this one in, oh lord, ten years at least. The three of us wear big, stupid grins on our faces. Our arms are thrown around each other as we lean on my car. The emotions on our faces… I have to think, try hard to remember. Without my permission, my feet carry me across the room to the wall. I pull down the one photograph and head back to the bed. I see …happiness obviously, camaraderie, and…hope? Is this what hope looks like?

I can't help but shake my head at that wasted hope. I curl onto my side with the picture and am holding it to me like I would have held them. I am struggling against the Ambien now. I feel my eyes close in spite of me. As I drift off to my dreamless, medicated sleep I feel the vague ghosts of tears down my cheeks.

The first tears I remember crying since I had left.


	2. The Awakening

**Stephenie Meyer Owns Twilight **

**I own an impressive case of insomnia(but no Twilight)**

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing this one! I really appreciate it!**

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I vaguely hear the door open and feel the irritation through my veiled awareness.

"Edward…..Edward….sweetheart…Edward, it is time to wake up."

Sweetheart? That is certainly new. She must want something big this time. Good lord she has her own damn card why is she waking me?

I feel her small hands on my shoulders and the annoyance breaks me from the last vestiges of sleep.

"Jesus Christ" I growl through my pillow. "Am I not entitled to a moment's peace? Do you follow me around now?"

A sharp smack to the back of my head sends me to my feet in an instant and I have her small wrist roughly in my hand before I am entirely awake. This is far beyond acceptable. Dysfunctional as we may be, we tend to avoid any physical contact and certainly never in anger. What the hell has gotten into her lately?

Red faced and trembling with anger of my own I look to her face and prepare to give her the verbal lashing of a lifetime.

My words lodge into my throat and I drop her wrist like it's on fire as I stare into the horrified face of my mother.

My mother who has been dead for more than fifteen years.

I scramble back across the bed and am pinned against the wall just staring as she remains slack jawed.

"Mmmmmom?" I manage to choke out.

What the hell is going on? Am I still dreaming, Jesus how many of those pills had I taken? I could have sworn it was only the one. My hand flies to the back of my head still stinging from the smack. Would I still feel that if I had been dreaming?

"Edward, honey, are you alright?" Her look now is nothing but concern.

I look behind her to the blue walls of my old bedroom, Pearl Jam poster on the wall, old trophies on the shelves, bottle of Cool Water on the dresser, old quilt on my bed.

"What is this?" I ask more to myself than her, who is not actually here, because I am not actually here, because this is insane. I pinch myself on the arm. It hurts and I am still here.

"Edward, you are starting to scare me" The concern on her face is now mixing with panic and I realize I am still up against the wall, hyperventilating and acting like a caged animal.

I force myself to flop onto the bed in front of me and put on the least frightening expression I am capable of at the moment. Thank god for those communication seminars or more aptly titled how to appear to be an actual human being while creating corporate slaughter seminars. Confidence, eye contact, inviting smile.

"I am so sorry, please forgive me, I just wasn't awake and you startled me. I swear everything is fine" Except for the fact I buried you a decade and a half ago and now you are standing in front of me having a conversation, in my old bedroom, in the house I sold when you died. Except for all that everything is fine.

I manage to keep the smile plastered on my face as she continues to stare at me in confusion as she heads back for the door. "I am going back to your breakfast" still with the look of concern. "Try to hurry dear, you don't want to be late." She closes the door and I hear her footsteps on the creaking hallway floor.

I flop back down to my pillows and push the palms of my hands into my closed eyes. Okay Edward, time to wake up.

And…I uncover my eyes to the poster taped to the ceiling above my bed.

Alright, and once more, wake up, wake up, you cannot be late for this meeting.

And…….no good.

Okay this has become beyond ridiculous. This is a dream, an incredibly fucked up, realistic dream and I am never touching the ambien or scotch ever again. Okay, well definitely not the ambien.

"Edward!" I hear her call up to me "I don't hear the shower running!'

Of course you don't, because you are dead. I bite my tongue from calling back to her. She's dead and I'm dreaming and I still can't be rude to my mother. Well, maybe she has a point, maybe a nice cold imaginary shower will bring me out of this. I jump to my feet again, pleasantly surprised by the lack of stiffness in my knees and head to the bathroom in the hall. Jesus, my sub conscious is good, there is not a throw rug out of place. I close the bathroom door and turn the shower dials as cold as they get. I go to raise my t shirt and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I freeze down to my toes. It's me, me thirty years and at least thirty pounds ago. I lean into the mirror. Not only is the grey gone from my temples but my hair is the same mix of red and brown I haven't seen since my last year at Harvard when I finally had it dyed to a reasonable color. The permanent bags under my eyes are gone, as are all the small wrinkles _she_ was always trying to convince me needed botox. I pull the shirt off and turn back to the mirror. My god, I don't think I ever looked this good. I have abs! That I can see! Jesus, look at my shoulders. Now I'm sure I'm dreaming. I spend a few more moments flexing my imaginary muscles and swear I am heading back to the gym, today, when I finally wake up, before I hop into the freezing shower.

A few frigid minutes later and I am still dreaming, a few slaps to the face and I am still dreaming. Okay, apparently I am just going to have to ride this out. My alarm is set for 5:30 and I know someone is bound to start calling the moment the office opens and I'm not in it. I towel off and head back to my bedroom to dress. In……what? I find Jeans and T shirts and the one ugly suit my mother had bought for weddings and funerals. Okay, well, when in Rome….. I pull a t shirt and jeans from the closet and dig around for shoes. I find my old pair of chucks, covered in my homemade graffiti and can't hold back the laugh. I remember these. God, I had loved them. I slide them on and head for the door as my dead mother is coming up the stairs. She too looks exactly as I remember her, well before the stroke and the nursing home at least. I give her a genuine smile. I have not dreamed of her at all since she passed and in a strange way I almost enjoy seeing her again, the way she was before it was all stolen from her.

"Well, you certainly look better." She says with a small smile of her own.

I only widen my smile in response and head down to the kitchen. My god, this room too looks exactly the same.

'Would you like your breakfast, dear?" She asks as she washes dishes in the sink.

"No, thank you" I reply. Respectfully, like I am not still dreaming and conversing with a corpse. I reach for the coffee pot and take a moment to try and remember where we kept the mugs.

"Edward, since when do you drink coffee? It isn't good for you." She chastises, dish and towel paused mid air.

Well, considering with the liquor and sleeping pills have done to me a little imaginary coffee is sure to not harm anything. Not that I could tell her that of course. I finally find a mug and pour a tall cup.

"I just developed a taste for it." I tell her through my smile and sips of black coffee.

"Well, maybe that is for the best, you're already running late and today is a big day." She replies, the pride evident in her voice.

Can't be late, big day, I have to wonder what in the world is in store for me now.

"I hung your keys by the door, your backpack and gym bag are there as well, and I packed your lunch also, I put it in the backpack."

I can't help but feel choked up by her gesture. I must have missed her more than I realized and that is precisely the sort of thing she would have done.

"Thank you Mom" I say genuinely, throwing my arms around her as she is still washing dishes. My god, I can even _smell_ my mother. Like channel and cookies and pledge.

"You should get going" she says, breaking my trip down memory lane "you don't want to be late your first day of senior year!"

Senior year? So I am what 18? That makes this, what? 2008?

"I won't be." I say giving her a quick peck on the cheek and heading to the mud room to grab my props in this odd little production. I take one step to the door and place my hand on the knob before I turn back to her finishing her dishes. This is very likely the last chance I'll ever have to see her, considering my ambien free future. "Hey Mom?" I call out to her. She turns, towel still in hand and looks at me, eyebrows raised. "I love you."

She walks over and cups my face in her hands. "Look at my little boy all grown up." If you only knew the half of it. "I love you too, always." She says with a kiss to my forehead, that she needs to be on her tiptoes to reach. "Now go, before you get into trouble already."

I take one more look back at her smiling face. I study her and lock this memory away, replacing all of the horrible ones of her at the end.

And I close my eyes, open the door and step out, hopefully back into my guest room.


	3. The Reunion

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of Twilight.**

**I own brand new lust over the '66 Mustang convertible.**

**(but regrettably no Twilight or Mustang : ( )**

**Thank you so much for reading this story! I'm having a lot of fun with it! **

**Warning – rated M for language. I swear like Andrew Dice Clay, therefore my Edward does too!**

**This is for the ever fabulous Smudge914. Who has damn good taste in American muscle cars. And fan fiction, of course ; )**

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I take a step out the door and hear the steady patter of rain. Considering it doesn't usually rain in my guest room, I force my eyes open to the front porch of my parent's old house, in Washington, in my head.

Fantastic. I can't be late for this meeting. It took the damn office girl almost a fucking week to find two hours where the three of us were in the same damn time zone, never mind the office. I run my fingers through my hair (and there is so much of it!) and try to remember how long I've been 'here'. Maybe an hour? So it's 3:00. 3:30-ish? Not that it really means anything, I can't remember my last dream but I'm pretty sure dream time doesn't carry over.

So now what?

I eye the gravel walk at the bottom of the porch steps. Maybe a pinch or cold shower wasn't enough to pull me out of it, but a nice fall onto gravel should do it. I am preparing to hurl my body off the porch when I hear my dead mother's voice through the kitchen window.

"Edward Masen! What has gotten into you today? I better see the tail end of that death trap on its way to school the next time I look out this window!"

Death Trap! My car is here! My baby! The mustang!

My plans of self sacrifice are quickly aborted as I make a mad dash to the garage. I punch in the code (how the hell do I remember a garage code?) and tap my foot impatiently as the garage door inches open, and sure as shit I see my baby, my beautiful baby. I throw myself on the hood and plant a kiss on her perfect black paint. I'm giddy as a school girl as I take an admiring walk around her. 1966 Ford Mustang Convertible, pitch black paint, white interior, white soft top. (not that the top was down more than 20 times as long as I owned her)

God I loved this car. Who the hell am I kidding, I loooove this car. I turned down every other car they paraded in front of me before my sixteenth birthday. This is the only car I would even consider. It was a battle but I was relentless, and after months of begging, pleading, straight A's and an MVP trophy they finally relented. She wasn't perfect then, the three of us well, four if you count the only volunteer with any experience at all, and we fixed all the little imperfections. Scouring the internet for original parts and finally relying on Dowling for the rest. It took months, some of the best damn months of my life cooped up in the garage with them, spending more time bullshitting than actually working on her, which was probably for the best considering the three of us had no idea what the hell we were doing. But in the end she was perfect. She is perfect I think as I run my hand down her side.

I sold her not long after. It just felt wrong, too much of him in her. Loving anything just felt wrong. About ten years ago, not long after Mac…..well, I just wanted her back, wanted this piece of them and of me back. I had guys all over the fucking _country_ looking for her. It had to be her. Not another Mustang, not a goddamned perfect replica like that guy in Connecticut offered. It had to _be_ her_._ I offered three, four times what she was worth in _commission_ and they still couldn't fucking find her. I went so far as to put my feelers out in Mexico, Canada and even a few countries in fucking Europe. But she was gone, gone as quickly and thoroughly as everything else.

I hop in without opening the door (it sticks) and put my key in the ignition. I take a deep breath and hear her purr and I do a victory dance in the driver seat. My god there is nothing on earth that compares to that sound. I pull down the visor and my sunglasses fall into my lap. I always thought I looked bad ass in them, instead of a complete ass, which of course I was, because it was Washington for Christ sakes and the sun was such a rarity people there saw it and feared the apocalypse was upon them.

I put them on anyway.

I debate putting the top down, nah, even in my head I just can't do that to her.

I throw my baby into gear and peel out of the garage in a way that would have certainly gotten me killed back then and am doing forty by the time I reach the end of my driveway, sixty by the time I hit the main road.

The radio is blaring a song I can't name that for some reason I am singing the lyrics to anyway as I pound out the beat on the steering wheel. My ridiculously colored hair is blowing in every conceivable direction from the open window, I'm still wearing the completely unnecessary bad ass sunglasses and a 'screw the canary, cat that ran loose through the fucking bird preserve' grin on my face as I drive at more than fifty over the posted limit through the town I grew up in.

And fuck the meeting and Schmidt and Jensen.

And god bless Johnny Walker Blue Label and ambien, because I haven't felt this fucking alive in years.

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After tearing through the town like a damn Nascar driver I finally head towards my old high school, because honestly, where the hell else am I going to go?

I laugh as I pull into my parking space at the school. My space. At the school that is now a strip mall. This is insane. How many of these memories have I stored? How in god's name I have I held on to on old red brick buildings and peeling white paint for thirty-something years? Look at the clothing! Clothing…I look down at my eighteen year old body half expecting to find myself suddenly naked. Isn't that how these things normally go? Nope, still dressed…..and still hitting the gym after the office today. I'll never get these abs back but I'm sure one of those trainers could do something with the spare tire.

I'm still making after work plans and singing along to thirty year old songs on the radio, when I hear an unholy squeal of tires from the parking lot. I look up in time to see an ostentatious, yet muddy, red jeep pull in front of me. An obnoxious red jeep. A red jeep.

He hops out, he never did keep the doors on that thing, even with all the rain. He turns to me and again I am frozen solid. I can do nothing but stare. Jesus Christ, Mac… fuck, was he always so big? My god, he looks exactly like the picture. Blue eyes, curly hair waving down into them because the 'chicks dig that shit, Eddie' and that same never failing shit-eating grin on his face. Oh my god, that's it, the picture. That is why I'm here. The goddamn picture sent my sleeping pill, alcohol fogged brain back to fucking Washington and my fucking high school. Back to them, just as they were, as I was, before.

Oh god Mac, look at you. That fucking smile and the goddamn light in your eyes. I find myself choked up for the third time in twelve hours and thirty years. I launch myself out of the car without turning it off and practically throw myself at him. I pull him into the tightest hug I have ever shared with a man.

"Eddie my boy!" He greets in his usual booming voice, not even my public display of affection putting a dent in his attitude. "What, did you miss me?" he laughs.

Eddie….I haven't heard that in…..no one ever calls me Eddie now.

"Mac…Oh god, Mac….Mac" I choke out.

I give him the obligatory smacks on the back but make no motion to release him despite his struggle.

'Yo, Eddie, what-the-fuck-man?" he tries to pull away.

"Mac, I'm so sorry Mac, I should have..Oh god…Mac look at you!' I seem incapable of actual thought. And I just hold him tighter.

A crowd is starting to gather around us as I cling to him and he is trying and failing to shake me off. I'm probably naked now, or have chicken legs or my long line of dead pets is parading around behind me and I can't bring myself to let go and look.

"Oh Mac…."

I know the alarm will go off any minute or my fucking palm will ring or my goddamn wife will come wake me up and I just can't let go, not yet. I can't let him go yet.

"Masen. . whatthehelliswrongwithyouman?"

"Is there something you two need to tell me?' I hear a sharp feminine voice call from behind me.

I turn around a look right into the pair of crystal clear blue eyes I never thought I would see again and can't help but cringe.

Rosalie.

Last time I had seen her she threw a glass of something 80 proof in my face and the bottle against the wall. She also attempted the throw her fist in my face but was carted off before she actually got a hold of me, which explains why I'm still breathing. I have little doubt, given the chance; she would have actually killed me.

Why the hell am I dreaming about Rosalie? Mac I get, my mother I get, the car I get, but Rosalie?

He finally breaks free of my hold while I'm distracted and with one last 'what-the-fuck?' look races over to Rosalie, scoops her up bridal style and swings her around. "Thanks for the rescue princess." He says to her leaning in for a kiss. "Eddie here has lost his mind."

He looks so perfect, so happy and so fucking whole and I can't do anything but stumble back until I hit the bumper of my car and stare. The crowd is starting to disperse so I guess I'm not naked or sprouting foreign parts. I still can't look for myself because I just can't take my eyes off of him.

Until I see little Alice standing off to the side, all bouncy and fucking smiling. Alice is smiling. Oh my god Alice. And thank god I'm leaning up against my car because my knees go weak and I start to feel dizzy. If Alice is here, then….no, oh god…It can't be…oh god. I see his blond hair half a foot above the remaining audience. He steps closer and I push off the car and stumble forward.

And he's there, in front of me.

And the blond hair and the blue eyes and the confused look on his face and the fucking scar over his eyebrow from when we tried to learn to fly jumping out of Emmett's tree house and the goddamn unlit Marlboro perched between his lips because he always thought it made him look tough. And I am stumbling towards him like he's a fucking oasis in the middle of the Sahara and I know any minute he'll disappear in front of my eyes. And he's staring at me like I am naked or made of animal pieces and I don't care because he is here in front of me, and I make it until we are a foot apart and my knees finally give out and the spinning in my head brings me down and all I can do is wrap my arms around his knees. I feel blackness or awareness or something pushing in, and I'm not even bothering to hold back the sobs that are shaking through my body and therefore his because I am using every resource to hold him here in this moment. And I don't care that I'm dreaming because I can feel him under my arms and that is enough. Even in my fucked up dream state this is enough.

"Ummmm…Eddie, are you okay man?" He whispers down to me. And he sounds the same, exactly the fucking same. All scratchy from those goddamn Marlboros and the hint of that drawl we never could quite figure out how he held onto.

My breath is getting harder to catch as I sob and cling to him in every conceivable way and push back against the something and I hear Emmett call from behind me 'Don't ask me, dude. He got all fucking squirrely on me too." And I'm choking and sobbing and fighting as hard I can to keep myself here, wrapped around his knees on the wet asphalt. And I know I am losing the battle and I can't hear and I can't breathe and I can't think but I can't let go. I have to tell him, before it's too late, I have to warn him.

'Jas' I manage and I can hear it echo all slurred and faint in my head. I take as large a breath as I can manage and with everything I have left I wheeze out 'Don't go'.

And the blackness rages and swallows me whole.

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Okey Dokey, so now we know the three in the picture are Edward, Jasper and Emmett.

Jas is obviously for Jasper and Mac is short for McCarty as in Emmett McCarty. (per SM cannon – although I'm sure you all figured it out by now anyway)

And the fourth volunteer in the Mustang project is obviously Rosalie since her mechanic skills are legendary.

Don't worry – the next chapter is called The Advice and we and Edward will start to understand what the hell is going on!


	4. The Advice

**You know it, but I'll tell you again anyway. Twilight is Stephenie Meyer's, not mine : (**

**Thanks for the reviews! They are almost as good as Johnny Walker and Ambien.**

**Check out my AU story For Eternity. It rocks so much I have a brand new bad ass banner!**

**This one is for ****ShinyVolvo3575,**** the fabulous designer of the aforementioned bad ass banner!**

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The annoying chatter of talk radio starts pulling me to awareness. I could have sworn I set the damn thing to alarm. Talk radio irritates me. And this bed is uncomfortable. I have to get one of the admins to order a replacement, I would be embarrassed to put guests on this thing. Not that the house is crawling with them. Well, the in-laws do come down fairly often. Enjoy the spoils of their little girl's conquest, I suppose.

On second thought, the bed stays.

I can't decide if that was the best fucking dream I ever had, or the worst. On the one hand, my god, just to kiss my mother again and see her all young and happy, to drive the mustang, to see _them_, to have them both in my arms just one last time, I guess it's more than anyone has the right to ask for.

But on the other hand, to have it all back, just for a few minutes will do nothing but remind me of all that is gone. I've spent thirty years burying shit, being consumed in my work so there was no part of me free to be pulled back and now to have it all shoved right into my mind, I have the feeling I'm going to be suffering for it for quite a while.

And I want that damn car back.

I can't have my mother, or Mac or Jas or even my flat stomach and I want my goddamn car back. I don't care what the fuck it costs me. It is a piece of them and I'm getting it back. I'll call that guy down in LA and up it to a million in commission. I'll have them comb the goddamn tundra if that's what it takes. And then I'm taking that picture and taping it to the visor and I'm driving all the way back to Washington. They deserve so much better, so much better than me. I'm getting back our car and I'm driving the fuck home and I'm seeing my brothers.

But definitely not Rosalie. She still scares me.

I'm coming out of my haze and the talking is becoming more distinct. I take a deep breath and my throat is all raw. The voices are starting to make more sense, well actually less sense. This doesn't sound like talk radio.

"Are you sure he's okay?" I hear through the remaining fog.

I try to pay better attention.

"Young man, if you ask me that again I will send you back to class is that clear? I have already told you he is fine, just give him a minute." I hear a woman say rather angrily.

Wait a second, back to class? Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.

I finally force my eyelids open and see way too many concerned faces standing over me. I feel like Dorothy from the goddamned Wizard of Oz, except I'm still on the wrong side of the rainbow.

A woman I don't recognize is standing by my head with a smug smile. Jas and Mac are on the other side hovering over me with concerned faces. Behind them I see Rosalie (cringe) Alice and Becca? Becca…Oh, c'mon the cop's kid…Becca….Bella! Bella… uhhhh….Something! Why the hell is she here? Well, both in my dream and in the nurse's office? I think she was friends with one of them but I never really knew her. That just makes it ten times weirder.

I look down quickly, well, at least I'm not naked.

I open my mouth to ask what exactly is going on because I think I have seriously reached my limit of fucked up for the day when I am interrupted by the squeak of the door and a woman crying.

"Oh my god baby, I just heard! Baby what happened, are you okay? I was so scared. Baby? Baby say something!"

Jessica-Mother-Fucking-Stanley

And she is throwing herself all over me covering me in kisses.

I take it back. Now I have officially reached my limit and _she_ is the breaking point.

I guess my face must have showed something to that degree because before I can open my mouth the nurse is herding them all up and shoving them out the door.

"Out! Everyone out! Give him a couple minutes and you'll see him in class."

I can hear them all trying to protest and Jessica's whiny voice calling over the others but luckily the nurse takes no prisoners and follows them out.

This is insane, I must be insane. I must have lost my mind and now I'm insane. This is ..I….I am….well I don't know what the fuck, but this is really getting old.

I flop back down on my table and cover my eyes with my arm.

My panic is interrupted by the constant crinkling of paper on the bed next to me and I turn over to get a better look. There is a little kid sitting on the end of the bed swinging his small legs and making a racket on that damn paper. And, he is just staring at me with the strangest, creepiest smile on his face.

"You look like shit." He says to me.

"Well, thanks" I reply, my patience with all of this long gone. "That's really fucking helpful, and aren't you a little young to be in a high school?"

He just laughs a humorless chuckle and rolls his eyes.

"You Edward, should know more than anyone that looks can be deceiving."

Well, that got my attention.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I snap back to him.

'It means," he replies with that strange smile "that I'm here to help you."

"Help me what?" I ask "I have no idea what the hell is going on."

"No one ever does." He says matter-of-factly.

"Listen junior, I've got confused down pat over here so if you're just going to sit there and creep me out and speak in riddles than you can just go back to kindergarten or wherever the fuck you came from."

"Jeez, testy, testy" he admonishes. "You think you would be grateful or at least a little nicer considering I'm the one with the answers."

I just raise my eyebrow at him, you got answers? Prove it junior.

"You died."

I can't hold back the snort. Right. "Right, okay junior that was immensely helpful, so mission accomplished. Now if you'll excuse me I have a meeting at seven that I can't miss so I need go and wake up now." I resume my previous position and settle myself back on the uncomfortable table and throw my arm back over my eyes.

"No, you listen and pay attention, you aren't going to wake up and you certainly aren't going to be attending any meetings. Well. Maybe your funeral, does that count as a meeting? You think Schmidt and Jensen will show up there?"

I jump back up to sitting position and stare at him with my mouth hanging open.

"What? What did you say to me?"

"Schmidt and Jensen, do you think they'll go to the funeral? I mean they probably will if there is an open bar…and Jensen always did have a thing for your wife." He is looking at me innocently.

This is an entirely new level of fucked up.

"I'm not dead." I tell both him and myself.

"Oh, I assure you that you are. A massive coronary at 2:47 am, April 24th, pronounced DOA at Forks General by one Dr. Julita, then you're cremated. And…."

"I'm not dead, I'm barely fucking fifty!" I yell over.

"Oh please Edward, How did your dad die? Hmmm…… Heart failure at 48. Jeez with your genetic makeup, all the long hours and drinking and sleeping pills and other random abuses you were damn lucky to last as long as you did."

I can't do anything but stare at the creepy demon child. It is ridiculous. I'm not dead. I have too much to do today to be dead. It's crazy, this is all crazy. It's insane. But…is it really that much more insane that sharing coffee with my dead mother and driving a car that no longer exists?

"Is this some sort of sick joke?" I ask, almost hopefully.

"Oh, of course it is Edward." He snorts right back at me and continues with his sarcasm. "We routinely raise the dead and mess with time because it is incredibly amusing and we have nothing better to do than sit around and screw with you."

"We?"

"Yes we. Me and others like me. And lucky you, I'm your babysitter." His creepy grin grows more pronounced with that declaration. "I'm here to help you out as much as I can to get you and keep you on the right path."

"So then what is this?" I ask him, my voice betraying my growing concern that he just could possibly be right.

"Well, think of it like heaven.' He replies.

"So to be clear, I'm dead, and now I'm eighteen and Forks High School is heaven?" Great. That is exactly what I need and eternity of high school. Well, at least I'll have them.

"No, not exactly." I guess my expression shows just how close to breaking I am because he takes a large breath and continues. "Okay, listen, some things are pre-ordained, like fate if you will, but there are times fate collides with free will and things don't always happen as they should. And when that happens we can't just take away your free will and make you go down the paths you should have, so we wait it out and let you do whatever it is that you are going to do to mess it all up and when you finally die you get to set it right."

"And I have to set what right, exactly?" I prod, like I am actually entertaining the possibility of all this.

"Well, Edward, that is entirely up to you." He says with a shrug. "But you can't possibly believe your life was supposed to turn out this way. You're miserable and alone and hated by almost everyone you know. Or at least, you were."

"Bullshit!" I snap back at him. "I'm married, I have a wife and I'm wildly successful and respected and I'm damn good at what I do."

"Maybe so." He replies nonchalantly with a shrug, not troubled in the least by my reaction. "But you were still miserable and alone and you may have been well respected, but trust me, no one actually liked you. And your wife, do you really think that her life was supposed to end up that way either?"

"She had everything she ever wanted." I reply, still bitter.

"No Edward, she didn't." He says, his creepy smile failing for the first time. "Despite what you may believe, she did love you. Maybe not the way you needed or wanted or deserved, but she did just the same. And you were too consumed in everything else to ever notice. So trust me when I tell you she certainly did not have all she wanted."

"So this is about her?" I ask him as I try to digest what he is saying.

"No, of course not, this is about you and only you. You need to fix what went wrong for you."

"Why?" I ask point blank.

"Why what?" he counters.

"Why all of it. Why am I here, now and why do I have to 'put things right?"

"Well, the here and now is easy enough. Here in High School because this was a major turning point for you. This is where you started to get off track so this is where you start. And the now, we already covered that part, now because you _finally _died. And there rest of it, well your life didn't go the way it was supposed to and trust me when I tell you the effects of that are far reaching." He pauses and shakes his head. "It effects a lot more than just your life when things change, so you aren't just putting it right for you, you are fixing everything else you made a mess of. And why do you get the chance to make it better for you and everyone else? Well you know," he says with a twirl of his wrist, "loving, merciful god and all that."

"So a loving, merciful god, which is funny in itself because I'm an atheist, but this warm and fuzzy god decided to send me back to high school because I made a mess of the life I was supposed to have?" I mock ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yup" He replies, the smile back on his face, although it is beginning to look less little kid creepy and more flat out demon evil. "That pretty much covers it."

"And Edward" he adds "No amount of pinching or cold showering or throwing yourself off of outdoor installations will get you out of it so let's just skip the theatrics and save some time, okay?'

"How much time?" I ask thinking of them. "How long will this last?"

With another chuckle, this one of certain amusement he answers. "Why Edward? Is there somewhere you need to be? It takes however long it takes and again it is entirely up to you."

"So I can just decide when all of this ends?" I question, looking for loopholes in his argument.

"Jeez, you don't listen at all do you? Pay attention now because I won't say it again. You need to set it right, you need to fix it and then you get to go."

"Go where?"

"You are really killing me with the questions, ya know that? It doesn't matter where."

I open my mouth but he holds his little hand up to stop me.

"It doesn't matter and I'm not telling you about it so please just stop, we don't have much time until the nurse comes back."

"So you're leaving?" I'm suddenly panicky at the thought of being without the irritating evil child that at least has some answers, as cryptic as they may be.

"Well, if they lock you in a rubber room for tackling and crying all over your friends and then talking to yourself, you won't be able to get much done now will you? But don't worry I'll be here when you need me. And, on that note, things will be a lot easier for you if you keep your mouth shut about all this. No one will believe you and it will just make everything more complicated. Just try to be your normal self, and I can also promise you that as time passes that will become easier and easier for you to do."

"So what do I do?" I ask him, my head in my hands as I rub circles in my temples and try to convince myself he is just some underage mental hospital escapee.

"Well, you live your life. Take it day by day and think back to things that triggered your life to turn out the way it did and then you change it."

"Again that is incredibly helpful." I snap at him again. Yes this may be insane, but really, what other choice do I have? Nothing else has worked and I seriously appear to be trapped. Not a feeling I enjoy so maybe it is for the best I just roll with the punches until something gives.

"Oh and Edward," he says hopping down from the bed next door and heading to the door. "Let me give you some advice."

"First of all, just because things got off track doesn't necessarily mean every decision you made was wrong. Do not jump in and start doing everything ass backwards and assume that will fix anything. Trust me on this, it doesn't happen that way. Ever. Don't do it."

"Second, you can no longer rely solely on your memories. Like I told you before, everything is connected and even a very minor small detail to you can have lasting consequences. Your little stunt from the parking lot earlier has already caused ripples for you. I'm not saying you can't change things, because that is the whole point of being here. I'm just saying that you need to tread very carefully everywhere, and you cannot trust your memories of anything because everything is different now already. Your memories will fade when you change the things that led you to them."

"Third, do not, under _any_ circumstance go out and do something big and stupid. It breaks the rules so to speak. And by big and stupid I mean bet on the Super Bowl because you know who's going to win or hunt down and shoot the guy that bangs your wife in twenty years or prophetize the next big natural disaster. Just don't do it."

I can't help but intercede on his monologue and push his buttons a little "Wait. What about free will, wouldn't that clash with your last little rule there?" I smirk, knowing I have him on this at least.

He sighs and rolls his eyes again at me.

"It isn't so much a rule as a guideline. Yes you still have your free will but I can guarantee you that you didn't end up here because you have an un-fulfilled destiny as the guy who won big money in betting on the Eagles. Remember the trusty concept of everything you do effecting everything else? Well, pulling a stunt like that does nothing but create very big messes for us to clean up and trust me it is not something that makes us very happy."

He shoots me a pointed glance, daring me to challenge his 'guideline' again.

"And finally, and this is the really important one Edward so pay attention. You are here because of you. You are here because of the paths you took and didn't take and while, as I have told you quite a few times already, the choices you make have far reaching effects, you are only here for you. To fix the choices you made. Yours. And no one else's. So for the love of everything, please do not go around trying to fix anyone but you. It can be counterproductive and create many more problems than solutions. You can't go changing everyone else's destinies to suit what you want to have happen to them. I'm sure you know where I'm going with this. Do you understand?"

I can do nothing but stare at this strange evil child and nod as my mind swims the sheer impossibility of everything he is saying.

He reaches for the door handle and hesitates, finally turning back to look at me. "Edward." he opens his mouth a few times, deciding what he wants to say. "Edward, it really is a gift and not one that is offered to many. Try to enjoy it."

And with that he gives me a small sad smile and ducks out the door.

Before the door can swing closed the nurse walks back through. She checks my blood pressure and shoves a thermometer in my mouth and a cold washcloth on my forehead. I know she is talking but I'm not paying attention, still too consumed with every impossible and fucked up thing the creepy child had said. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The nurse is staring at me expectantly and I realize she is awaiting a response to a question I didn't hear.

"Pardon me?"

"I said Edward, are you ready? Do you think you can handle it?"

I stare at her. What is she the fucking ghost of Christmas past now?

"What?" I ask her, trying to prepare myself for whatever completely random and unbelievable thing that could possibly follow the kid and the most insane conversation ever.

She looks me dead in the eyes with equal parts annoyance and concern.

"I said, are you ready Edward, to go to your classes? Do you think you can handle it or do you need to go home?"

"Oh, oh I'm okay." I tell her incredibly relieved, and blowing out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

I take another deep breath and try to make the leap to the completely impossible.

"I guess I'm as ready as I'm going to be."

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Jus to clarify, when Edward refers to Japer and Emmett as his brothers he is doing so in a band of brothers way not in a blood relative way.

Just so you know.


	5. The Break

**Stephenie Meyer is the owner of Twilight, I am not.**

**(although my sister is the proud owner of a 6 foot cardboard Edward Cullen) ;)**

**Thank you so very much for your reviews! They are **_**almost**_** as good as a '66 mustang.**

**For De and Smudge, the best damn betas a girl could ask for.**

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I head out of the main office confused beyond belief and sporting a raging headache. I can't be dead, death can't be this uncomfortable. I take a deep breath with my hand resting on the doorknob. Well, for argument's sake, if the kid is right, what the hell am I supposed to do now? What do I change first?

That question is immediately answered when I open the door to find my worried friends, their significant others and a red eyed Jessica leaning up against the lockers.

Jessica.

Rosalie had introduced us when Jess had joined the cheer squad the beginning of sophomore year. She was sweet and bubbly and extroverted in all the ways I wasn't. She blew things off and didn't stew like I did. She pulled me out of myself. She looked at me like I hung the moon. She loved me in all the ways no one ever had. And she absolutely destroyed me.

"Are you okay?"

"Jesus Eddie, what the fuck was that?"

"Baby are you alright?"

"Eddie, are you sure you don't want me to just take you home, the nurse said you could go home?"

I ignore them all and reach out and grab Jessica's wrist and start towing her down the hallway.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" she asks.

I ignore her; we don't need an audience for this.

"I'm fine and I'll catch up with you all later" I shout to them without turning back. They can just add it to 'Edward has completely lost his mind' file. I'll deal with them later.

I don't have her tight enough to hurt her but she is certainly struggling to keep up with my much longer gait.

"Eddie, where are you taking me?" She sounds more concerned than anything else.

I don't respond, I just keep heading for the exit by the gym doors. I can feel the anger, the resentment building and I increase my pace. I'm breathing hard now, more from the effort of controlling my emotions than the physical exertion. I'm getting some answers out of her _this_ time. I won't let her do this to me again.

"Eddie, you're scaring me." Panic is leaking into her tone.

Yeah, join the club, 'cause I seem to be doing a hell of a lot of that today.

But I still remain silent as I reach the door, push down the bar and pull her through the doorway. Outside the door I spin her by the hold I have on her and release her up against the brick building.

"Eddie what the hell…."

"I know." I snap at her, surprising myself by just how angry I can still be, technically at least, more than thirty odd years later.

"Know what Eddie? Jesus you've really…."

"Stop. Just stop Jess, don't insult me. Well………… anymore than you already have." I spit down at her as she cowers under my gaze.

"Oh God" She says burying her face in her hands. I hear her start to sniffle as she backs to the wall and slides down. "Oh God, Eddie, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. I never meant…."

"What the fuck Jess?" I'm yelling now but the hurt and the shame and the pain is back full force. "Two years Jessica, two fucking years, how could you do this to me?"

She is still sitting against the wall, her head in her hands which are now resting on her bent knees, crying.

"Look at me!" I scream at her.

She looks up, tears still running down her face.

"It's not what you think." She says in a voice so small I can barely hear her. "I never meant to hurt you."

Not what I think! The first time around, about two months from now I find a note shoved in my locker containing all the gory details with a time and a place to see it for myself. The first time around that was all I needed to see and I never, despite all her attempts gave her the chance to explain herself. I just did what I had to and then ignored them both completely for the next few months until I could escape to school. I just couldn't handle it, couldn't bear hearing it from her own mouth, couldn't stand to think how stupid I had been to never see anything and just how incredibly naive I had been to trust her completely. And although I learned a great deal from it all about people in general that certainly served me well in never getting my heart broken again; I never really forgave her for it.

"Well, that's rich Jess, what fucking part of this was to not hurt me?" I yell even more loudly.

"Kissing Mike Newton at Emmett's party? Seeing him behind my back for what now, months? Or would it be pretending everything is fine to my face this whole time while you did it?" I throw my hands up as I scream at her still curled up and crying on the wet grass.

"Jesus Christ Jess, who else's bed have you been in? Eric? Tyler? Mac? I know you always had a thing for Jas." I spit at her.

"Don't you dare Edward Masen!" She screeches at me as she jumps up from her place against the wall. "Don't you fucking dare!" She yells in my face her little finger poking into my chest. "There has never been anyone but you and you fucking know it!" She almost seems to be choking as she goes back and forth between crying and screaming at me.

"Do I Jess?" I ask her condescendingly.

"You better!" She is still screeching at inhuman decibels. "It's not what you think Eddie, and I may have screwed up, but you know I would never do that to you!"

And the way she says it, I almost believe her. I want to believe her. I want this all to be some messed up misunderstanding. She takes a few breaths and is calm enough to speak in a fairly normal voice, although she continues to occasionally choke on her sobs.

"Jesus Edward, what was I supposed to do? Huh? You knew just as much as I did that things weren't right. We couldn't keep doing this, going through the motions because it was comfortable. It stopped being real a while ago but we just couldn't let go."

She takes another big breath and I feel my own anger starting to ebb. She may be right but that doesn't excuse what she did, what she apparently is still doing. We had grown apart, but isn't that what happens when you're with someone a long time?

"Mike kissed me at that party, and I kissed him back. And I felt the same spark we used to have. I felt that with Mike and I knew that was a surefire sign that it wasn't right for us to still be together. And I should have told you, I should have told you and ended it as soon as I felt it. And I swear to god Eddie, I was going to, I swear to you I was, but then….not even a week later…."

She trails off and stares back to the ground still sniffling. So how in any way is this not what I think?

"A week later what, Jess?" I snap at her.

She raises her head and looks right into my eyes. And although they are still bloodshot and the tears are falling down her cheeks her eyes hold nothing but…..pity?....compassion? What the hell?

"Oh, Eddie……your dad" She whispers back.

My father……Oh god, that was June, June '08, this past June…… I stumble back to the wall and slide down in the same place she had been just moments earlier. I put my head in my hands. My mother, my poor mother, it was only three months ago. Why would I have to live through this over again? What kind of god would put me through this again? I can't do it, I won't do I won't live through him and Jess and _them _all over again. I barely fucking made it through it all the first time and I just can't do it all again. I feel her sit next to me against the wall but make no motion to pull my face away from my palms.

"Eddie, after….after that night….I called Mike and told him I was sorry that kiss ever happened and I couldn't see him."

"Great Jess, my dad dies and I become your charity case?" I growl through my fingers. While this is a huge shock to me the alternative is almost as bad. So she wasn't with him all along but instead stayed with me out of pity?

"Oh shut up Edward, you know it was never like that. Seeing you that night, I just held you and I knew me being there did help, and I knew what we had was still worth something, and I didn't want to let that go. It may not have been an 'in love' thing for either of us at that point Eddie, but I did love you, I do still love you. Even if you aren't my boyfriend you'll always be one of my best friends. You needed me and I was there because that is where I wanted to be."

I sit in shock and try to soak it all in. All these years I had thought the very worst of her, thought the worst of myself for being blind. I thought I had such a horrible judge of character to subjected myself to the awful person I thought she was. And after that it just became easier to keep everyone out than risk being blindsided again.

She gives me a nudge with her shoulder to break my reprieve.

"I swear I only saw Mike two or three times since then, all platonically, and I told him I couldn't even think of dating him until we figured everything out between us."

Well, now I can guess who the note was from. That slimy son of a bitch! He planned it! He set me up! She wouldn't see him until we broke up and he knew exactly how to make that happen.

I try to remember that day.

_Jessica has been cheating on you since Emmett's end of year bash….. Come to paradise after school and you'll see that I am telling the truth. _

But I didn't believe it, I couldn't believe it. We were together more than two years at that point, practically a golden anniversary by high school standards. And I knew things weren't perfect, I knew we didn't spend a lot of time together anymore, and we were fighting a lot, but I just thought we needed to work on it. We just needed to make it fit again, and then we would be fine. And then I let my curiosity lead me down to paradise pizza after school. And there she was, standing out front with Mike Newton's tongue in her mouth and his hands on her ass. My heart and pride were shattered in that moment, Mike Newton's nose in the next few and my trust in love in general later that night when I cried myself to sleep.

"And it was just never the right time to talk about it all. Everything with your dad was still so fresh and I didn't want to lay a heavy relationship talk on you too. And then you started seeming a little better. Seeing the guys more often, starting football, and you seemed to start feeling something other than loss all the time and I didn't want to wreck that by hashing us out. But you were never my charity case Eddie, you have to know that."

And I can hardly understand myself for it, but I believe her. This is more the Jess I knew. The Jess I once loved. And I can see where she was then. No matter what had happened, I don't think I could have told her either. No matter how bad off we were, if she were in the same shape I was when my dad died, I would have stood by her and helped her through it any way I could have. I would have owed her that then same way she felt that she had owed me.

And I almost laugh out loud at the insane irony of something that had hurt me so badly then almost making me ……grateful…now. She had helped me then, even if it was just being there unwaveringly when I would go from extreme to extreme. Trashing my room in a fit of random rage one moment and crying on the bathroom floor the next. I had a hard time being around _them _in the beginning. They tried; they tried so hard to be there for me. But they were like my brothers, and they both still had their fathers. And knowing…. knowing the last words my father and I had spoken, or rather screamed at each other, well it just brought it all back to look in their faces. Reminded me of the choice I had to make, who I would disappoint. And it was just too much to take in. And that left Jess. Jess who had fallen for someone else and still helped me anyway she could.

I rake my fingers down my face and look over to her.

"I'm sorry Edward, I am so sorry for all of it." She says looking right in my eyes as the tears overflow again. And not only do I completely believe her, but 30 some years too late I completely forgive her for everything.

"I know Jess, and I'm sorry I dragged you down the hall and I said those horrible things to you." Because I am sorry. She didn't deserve it, not now and not then. If I had only been mature enough to talk to her about it the first time, maybe it wouldn't have hurt so bad.

"I know. So where does this leave us?" She asks intertwining her fingers with mine on the grass.

"What do you really want, Jess?" I sigh.

"I think" she says no louder than a whisper "that maybe it's time to let it go."

"Yeah, I think you're right."

We sit on the wet grass in silence for a few minutes. I remember the good times we had and forget all the bad. I forgive us both for being young and stupid. I slowly rise to my feet and use our intertwined hands to pull her up from the grass. She faces me and stares back into my eyes for another moment.

"A part of me will always love you, Edward" She finally says in that same quiet tone, bringing my knuckles to her face with hers and planting a soft kiss on them. "And I'm glad we were together."

"Me too, Jess" I reply. I lean over and give her a chaste kiss, saying goodbye to the beauty and innocence of my first love, and also the little piece of pain I had always carried with me over her. And I can't help but smile because for the first time I can think of her and feel only peace. And a small part of me understands what the kid had said, this is something I had to make right.

With one last squeeze to her hand I finally do let go and turn back towards the school.

And see Mike Newton rushing through the gym doors. He freezes a foot in front of me and we stare at each other. And honestly, it's almost hard to hate him. She is a great girl and she will make him very happy one day. They ended up married with a couple of kids living down the street from my mother's old house. And although I know it is all for the best, although I know it never came to his stunt with the note, although there isn't a single part of me that is in love with her anymore, although I have made my peace with the past and I think I am a better person for it all….

I break his nose again anyway.


	6. The confrontation

**Stephenie Meyer Owns Twilight. **

**I own a guilty conscience for leaving you so damn long without an update.**

**Seriously, I am so, so sorry I left you hanging. I do have this story fully outlined and it will be updated until its natural conclusion. I love this story, but For Eternity is my baby and my priority. I do have most of the next two FE chapters almost finished and now Twilighted is up to date with FF, so I will have more time to dedicate to ALU. This chapter is a hot mess, but I don't want to make you wait while I have it beta'ed. When I get the chance I'll replace it with a beta'ed version, but for now just ignore all my mistakes!**

**Please forgive me, and enjoy some Bella and Edward at last!**

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After a brief stop to my car to grab my backpack and schedule and another to the men's room to clean Newton's blood off my knuckles, I search for room 401 and my AP calculus class. Well, at least until I get called down to the office for that little stunt with Mike. I hope I don't get kicked off the football team for it.

_Eh, worth it. _

A certain benefit of being raised in a small town and attending a small school, news of my emotional breakdown and subsequent nurse's office visit has been well circulated, even to the teaching staff apparently and I am able to sulk in with little more than a nod from Mr. Patton.

Taking a seat in the back of the class I dig through my backpack. I pull out the text book and open it so I appear to be following along as I dig through the rest of my things in hope of a little more assistance with the rest of my day. I have my schedule, luckily today is the first day so at least I'm not flying blind and it won't be quite so unusual that I have no idea where I'm going. I can't find any indication of where exactly my locker should be. I guess I'm stuck lugging everything around with me until I can make it back down to the office and find out where it is. Thanks to Jess and the memories I've held onto I know that I have football practice after school, I only hope my eighteen year old body is used to the abuse because I certainly am not and I hope I don't get killed on the field. I could barely handle a tackle at Mac's hands back in the day; I can only imagine how I would fare now. The ringing of the bell grants me reprieve and I gather my things amidst the stares and whispers and head out to find my next class.

Ms. Shnore is waiting by the door of my literature class and I can barely restrain myself from actually rolling my eyes. It would be bad enough if she was only one of my mother's garden club friends, but she had also not so subtly been coveting the guidance counselor position since joining the staff at good ole' Forks High. And while I must admit she certainly would be better than the god awful counselor we are straddled with, she more than makes up for her disappointment by trying to do his job behind his back. Considering I am easily the most fucked up student here, she is currently standing by the classroom door eyeing me like a winning lottery ticket.

Great.

"Mr. Masen? I was wondering if you would mind waiting here just a moment." She says quietly as I approach.

I hear Rosalie's tinkling chuckle as she brushes by me into the room.

Wonderful, this is exactly what I need. A Shnore intervention, as we had taken to calling them and then a class with Rosalie.

The bell rings and she closes the door to her classroom and turns to face me.

"Mr. Masen." She begins in that same quiet tone. "Edward, I heard about your experience in the student lot this morning." She places her hand on my bicep and looks in my eyes with that same gentle concern. Someone has taken a few of the communication seminars, I can't help but think to myself as she drones on about grief and expression and time healing wounds and countless other things I am tuning out completely.

I have to figure out a way to handle the guys at lunch.

My hallway therapy session is cut short by however when an all too familiar voice calls from behind me with a completely inappropriate joy.

"Mr. Masen! Just the guy I've been trying to hunt down!" and this time I can't hold back the cringe as I feel his hand come down on my shoulder.

Just when you think it can't get any worse.

Ms. Shnore's face falls and the word disappointment is practically written on her forehead.

"Thanks for bringing him out for me Linda! I would have hated to interrupt your class on the first day!" He continues in that same endlessly irritating jovial tone. I can't help but wonder if he is completely oblivious or if he just enjoys flaunting his job in her face.

"Not at all, Aro, I was just taking a moment to see how Edward here was fairing." She manages to reply.

"Well, we'll take it from here, won't we son? C'mon come with me." He directs to me and I can only roll my eyes in response. Nice, call the kid that just lost his father 'son'.

_Asshole._

I can see a similar feeling flash across her face as she comes to the same realization I did.

He is headed down to the main office, whistling of all fucking things. I turn to Ms. Shnore who looks dangerously close to throwing something at him. And as much as I would love to be a witness to that, I can't help but feel slightly bad for her.

I put my hand on her bicep and look up at her with an overly played look of concern. "He is only trying to manipulate your emotions, Linda." I say to her in the same quiet tone she had been using only moment earlier. "And do try to restrain yourself from physical violence. It is not a healthy expression of your anger." She stiffens in response and looks at me completely baffled. I give her a wink and a genuine smile and turn to follow the insane guidance counselor down the hall.

An hour and a half of blocking him out and more head nods and 'uh-huh's than I can count, I am finally released from the optimism prison. Why does every school office have those 'motivational' posters? If I didn't feel like harming myself beforehand, a few hours trapped in a room with kittens hanging from clotheslines telling me to not give up had always left me wanting to gouge out my own eyes with a school issued cafeteria spork.

Surprisingly, my sentence with the oblivious jackass did serve more than one purpose. He had managed to spare me several tedious lectures from the staff that is barely qualified to remind us to color inside the lines. But more than that, he reminded me about the dreams. And while back in the day that would have been a green light to start shattering his 1# counselor mugs against the aforementioned anti-motivational kittens, he gave me a perfectly acceptable excuse for my earlier behavior.

So, thanks to that I can head towards the cafeteria and actually look forward to seeing them again.

And there they are, right in front of me, standing guard by the cafeteria doors in identical poses. Arms crossed, faces drawn in worried scowls and still looking so perfect I have try desperately to hold back the tears and force down the crushing pain in my throat and in my heart that is threatening, yet again to pull me to my knees.

I take a deep breath and remind myself it is probably better to just get this over with. Mac catches my eye first and only nods as he turns down the hall away from the cafeteria. I fall in line behind Jas and follow them out the back entrance to the bleachers by the football field. We settle in our usual places in the back corner and I watch Jas light one of his Marlboros while Mac seems to be choking on the hundred things he is deciding between saying. He only shakes his head as he finally just spits it out.

"Man, what the fuck was that?"

"Nice," Jas says between smoke rings, rolling his eyes. "Way to be fucking subtle."

"Subtle?" He snorts, "we passed subtle when Britney here went down in the parking lot."

"I mean it Emmett, back the fuck off. You know what he's been through." He snaps back at Mac.

"C'mon Jas that was insane even for…" He retorts before I cut him off.

"Jesus Christ!" I practically shout at the two of them. "You assholes realize I 'm sitting right the fuck here don't you?"

Mac at least has the decency to look sheepish as he mutters a quiet, "Sorry man."

Jas just stubs out his cigarette and pull a new one from his pack before meeting my eyes.

"Eddie, whatever it is man, you know you can tell us, right? We're here for you no matter what."

And for a moment I am almost tempted to tell them everything. But I know I can't do that. They think I'm crazy enough right now.

"I know Jas." I reply as I fight back the lump in my throat yet again. "And I really am sorry about this morning."

"Why?" Mac just can't stop himself from asking.

I take a deep breath and repeat the lies in my head before I say them aloud. God, what I wouldn't do for a scotch right now. Make do, right? I reach out and grab the pack sitting by Jas' knee. I steal a cigarette, light it and take a long drag before I realize I never smoked in High School and the two of them are staring at me wide eyed. Great, is there any other way I can fuck this day up? I decide to ignore it for right now, deal with one thing at a time.

"Okay so you guys know about the dreams?" I begin with a raised eyebrow. They nod so I keep going. "Well I had a really bad one last night. But it wasn't about my dad." I hesitate just long enough to take another drag of my stolen cigarette and blurt out the rest. "It was about you two and you… and you, you both…you died. I don't know, it just came back to me when I saw you this morning and I just kind of lost it for a minute there. It really isn't that big a deal." I boldfaced lie with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Well that makes sense." Jas offers as he is still warily eyeing me with the smoke between my fingers.

"How did we die?" Mac asks as Jas is shooting him a death glare.

"Just ignore him Ed, he is obviously unmedicated today" Jas says still glaring at him.

"Hey fuck you, Dr. Phil," He replies. "I deserve to know how I died."`

For a moment I am too stunned to reply as I wonder if he can see through me that clearly. He always did play into the stupid jock role everyone casted him in but in actuality he was extremely intelligent had freakishly intuitive when it came to people. My panic must show because he quickly backtracks.

"Don't worry about it man, really. I didn't mean to…" But, I cut him off shaking my head.

"No, no really don't worry about it." I reply. "Jas um…Jas you got blown up and you…you ah, you sho…you got shot." I manage to choke out as I fight back tears for the hundredth time today.

"Well, that sucks." Mac says staring at me like he is still trying to figure out why I am reacting the way I am.

Jas takes one more drag of his cigarette before crushing it out and looking back at me with a small grin. "Dude, no more midnight Halo for you."

I manage a lame laugh and mutter under my breath, "yeah, must be the Halo."

The bell rings and we climb out from under the bleachers and head back towards the buildings. "So ah, rumor has it Newton broke his nose pulling his locker open when it got stuck." Jas says a little too casually. Well, that explains why I haven't been called on the carpet. Guess the little weasel was afraid of what I would do to him if he squealed. Maybe he isn't as stupid as I thought.

_Nah, he really is. _

"You don't say." I reply, not even trying to disguise my smirk.

"Rumor also has it; your girl was the one to drive him to the emergency room." Mac adds looking at me from the corner of his eye.

"She's not my girl anymore." I say with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Really?" Mac asks, stunned.

"Yup." I reply, letting my mouth pop on the p.

"You okay with that?" Jas asks as we near the gym.

"Yeah, I am." I respond. "Seriously guys, thanks for everything but I am alright."

"'Could have fucking fooled me." Mac mutters under his breath.

I roll my eyes as Jas reaches the door handle and pauses.

"Um, Eddie?" He says looking down at his feet. "Just so you know, Alice is really…um worried about you and she might…"

"Damn J, can't you keep a leash on your woman?" Mac laughs slapping him on the back.

"Oh please, you are one to fucking talk." I laugh back at him. "Rosalie keeps your balls next to her lipstick in that little pink purse with all the C's on it."

Jas laughs so hard he is doubled over, and his laughter just eggs me on. Mac brushes pat the both of us and gives us a double fingered salute as he walks down the hallway.

"Thanks for the warning." I say slapping Jas on the back before heading to my study hall in the library. "But I can handle Alice."

_I think._

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After signing into my study hall I search for a secluded space to hide from the general population for the duration of the school day. I finally find a tucked away little corner and go back to digging through my backpack to search for, well anything that may make all this a little easier.

From my corner on the floor I see a pair of pink chucks heading towards me and instinctively roll my eyes. I can only imagine who has searched me out here to proposition me or get the hot dish on my insane behavior.

I look up just in time to see Bella Something with a rather unladylike huff, plop down a few feet from me in my sanctuary. I look to her face and arch my eyebrows in my best 'what do you want look" she merely shrugs and pulls a book from her backpack.

After a few minutes of silence I look up to her again and she is still consumed in her book. 'Can I help you?" I ask in annoyance.

She meets my eyes with a confused look and replies "nope, just hiding from Eric" and goes back to her book.

Sneaky, give me a nice sense of security before the twenty questions. She was a good choice on Alice's part. Alice knows me better than to come up all bouncy and insistent. But Bella, Bella I barely know beyond the fact she must be fairly intelligent to be in three of my AP classes, and a decent enough person to be friends with my friends.

"I was hoping to be alone." Hint, hint, go away Bella something. Alice is getting nothing from me.

"Well, you are in my hiding place, I figured given your day so far I would be charitable and share rather than kick you out." She replies offhandedly not even raising her eyes from her book.

Ah, here we go. Nice intro. This girl is good. If I didn't have my years of experience I may actually believe the innocent disinterest.

I lean back on the bookshelf behind me and wait for her to sneak in her questions.

And I wait.

Silence.

And she has made no motion besides the turning of the pages of her book

She absolutely silent.

And for some unexplainable reason I am a mix of annoyed and intrigued.

What is she thinking?

I finally break the silence. "Aren't you going to ask me about Jessica?" I ask point blank. It's time to stop playing games Bella Something.

She still doesn't look up from her book and gives me another bored "Nope."

She must be digging for the real news. Alice plays dirty and this girl is good.

"So, go ahead." I say with a snort.

She finally looks up from her book and her eyes are innocent and doe eyed. She is very, very good indeed. I should look her up and bring her on staff. She would be amazingly useful in a boardroom.

"Go ahead what?" She asks.

"Ask about the parking lot and my public display of hysteria and how fucked up I am over my father." I spit back at her. I am beyond my already meager allotment of patience. Today is not the day for this.

She turns back to her book and flips the next page. "No, I'm good."

"Well, you can tell…wait...what? Why not, isn't that why you're here? Itry to keep my tone annoyed but my surprise taints it.

She sighs and folds the book on her lap before looking back up to me her face dead serious.

"Edward, do you want to talk about it?" She asks.

"No" I snap back.

"Well, that's why I didn't ask." She says, matter- of-factly. And she goes back to her book.

Well, that was unexpected. I sit and continue to stare at her reading. Every now and then her forehead will crinkle or her lips will twitch as she reads. It's almost endearing. Almost kind of cute. And then I can't help but feel like a total pervert because I know that we are technically classmates but I'm still over fifty and that is incredibly wrong. But I can't help but be captivated by her silence. Today, well even in my actual life I am consumed by questions, people vying for my attention in one way or another, everyone demanding something from me. And she is just silent, and here with me demanding nothing. Respecting my wishes to not talk about it although I have done nothing to earn her respect, in fact I have been downright rude. And I can't help but feel slightly guilty about that in addition to feeling guilty for staring at her like the pervert I apparently am.

Not that I stop.

I just sit and watch her and revel in her silence.

I can tell the exact moment she realizes I'm staring because her face flashes scarlet.

"What are you reading?" I ask to hopefully distract her from the fact I am a big voyeuristic pervert.

"Nothing," she replies, and although I wouldn't have believed it possible her blush deepens and she pulls the book farther in her lap.

Well, that worked better than I had hoped. Oh, this is going to be good. Now I have to know.

"With a reaction like that you have to tell me now." I bait.

"No" she replies, her face still the color of the god awful industrial library carpeting.

"Bella," I say in a lower seductive whisper, turning on the full Masen charm and flashing my trademark crooked smile. "Please tell me what you're reading."

Her eyes flit quickly to my face and back down to the book. The deep red in her face and her stutter betraying her retort, "you are not half as charming as you may believe, Masen."

Her silence, and her cute little face scrunches and her inability to be swayed by my smile have me beyond intrigued to full blown consumed. I can't help the grimace. I always get what I want and I certainly never have to resort to begging to get it. What is it about this girl and doing the opposite of what I expect?

"Bella? Bella where'd you go?" we hear called through the stacks. And in the moment she turns her attention to look for Eric, I lean over and pluck the book from her lap.

I can't hold back the snort that quickly turns to quiet laughter.

"Dusk Bella, really? Dusk? Isn't this the 12 year old girl book with werewolves or zombies? I thought you were all advanced placement, valedictorian girl"

She reaches out and snatches the book back from my grasp and returns it to the place in her lap, her face positively aflame. I revel for a moment in my success.

"Are you finished?" she asks. "And its vampires, smart ass, and that's not what the book is really about." She replies more to the book in her lap than to me directly.

And I can't help but feel bad, she is one of the few people today to show me any kindness and I just embarrassed the hell out of her.

"So, enlighten me." I tell her with a bored twirl of my wrist.

She looks over studying my face for a moment. She sighs and seems to resign herself.

"It's about Stephenie and Christian, who just so happens to be a vampire, but it's a romance. He loves her so much he fights his nature, everything he is for her. And she loves him so much she'll sacrifice everything for him. It's the ultimate love story." She tells me with that wistful little girl look on her face.

"It's a waste." The jaded 50 year old in me is making his presence known, assisted by the residual heartbroken 18 year old. "Real life isn't like that, love isn't like that. People don't go around falling madly in love to blinding white lights, the halleluiah chorus and white doves. Reading crap like that will only set you up for failure of an ideal that doesn't exist."

The words are barely out of my mouth before I feel like a complete asshole. I look down to my own lap. Jesus, I snap at her, embarrass her and just squish all her pure little girl fantasies in a matter of minutes. What kind of monster destroys someone's innocence like that?

"Bella…" I sigh. "I'm sorry that was…"

But she cuts me off mid sentence.

"No, Edward really, you're right" She interjects, rising from her place beside me. "Well, about part of it at least."

I look up into her eyes and once again she surprises me completely. I had expected tears at least but she is just looking right back into my eyes with that same wistfulness and a small smug smile on her face.

"It is an unrealistic ideal, but that is exactly why it's not a waste. Love like that doesn't exist. I'm not going to get swept off my feet by some gorgeous stranger that will fight it all for me. I won't be loved so much that he would die for me. I'm not going to fall so madly in love that I'll risk everything for him." She shrugs her little shoulders. "I'll probably never feel the earth move for someone, live for him, breathe for him, love him so much it hurts."

"But, for a little while I'm right there with Stephenie Meyer or Elizabeth Bennett when they do. I may never get to live it, but I can read it and I can feel it. And that gives me hope. I may not get doves and white lights and the halleluiah chorus but I can hope for something close. And for me at least, the hope is enough. Hope is never a waste. One may never get that ideal, but unfulfilled hope is still worth it. It's not always about the end result, hope is what makes the intermittent bearable."

She stuns me beyond belief when she tosses her book down into my lap. "Here ya go Edward, you look like you could use a little hope." She smiles and walks out to the main corridor of the library as the bell rings. My head is spinning as I watch her hair and her hips sway as she walks away.

And I just can't decide. With that pure untainted innocence yet to be broken as I'm sure it someday will, do I pity her or admire her? Is she really blind to the harsh realities or is she stronger in her hope than I had ever been? What the hell am I supposed to make of all of that? What the Hell am I supposed to make of her?

I let my head fall back against the books and mumble the only thing I really know about her.

"_Beautiful." _


	7. The Memories

Okay, so, ummm…I really suck. Another hundred years without an update. But, believe it or not I have a pretty good reason this time.

I stay at home with my young son, so I really only have time to write when he is sleeping. Considering I am, well at least I was a four or five hour a night kind of girl, it worked out pretty well. Then all of a sudden I started falling asleep mid sentence at the freakishly early hour of one am.

Which is one of the clues that led me to the realization that I am expecting baby #2!

We are super excited and can't wait to meet this new little one!

I will not abandon either of my stories and I promise I will have them both completed by the time the new baby arrives, even if I am writing the final chapters in the middle of labor. Seriously, I will not give up!

But, I am going to ask you to bear with me here. The first trimester sucks pretty badly. I will try my damnedest to get these chapters out, but I won't have any sort of schedule until I can stop spending my days gagging at every smell in a twenty foot radius and my nights in a pregnancy induced coma.

But I promise to keep updating!

As usual, thank you so much for all of your reviews! You rock my socks!

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Apparently when one ends up somehow transported back into his young adulthood, he remains an interesting mesh of old and new.

I distinctly remember the great recession and subsequent inflation. I remember the 'big one' that finally hit a luckily prepared San Francisco. I remember when the Sox won three straight pennants and people were predicting the apocalypse. I remember when Gasoline powered cars became obsolete, when Microsoft was finally bought out by Apple and Yahoo by Google, when living green became the law. I gratefully still remember the big stock trends in the decades yet to pass.

I very clearly remember the sunny afternoon when amid the fanfare, brass bands and waving flags, the very last Marine from Afghanistan, Corporal John Todd III stepped off that plane and back onto a then peaceful American soil. Even more clearly I remember the stink of the dive bar and the burn of cheap scotch where I watched Cpl. Todd take that history making step while I drank myself to oblivion. The subsequent hospital visit for alcohol poisoning and unpleasant recovery still, thankfully, remain hazy.

Yet, in addition to these 'memories' of things yet to occur, I apparently have deep seeded knowledge of the strangest things completely unaware. Things, until today I had believed had been erased from my memory more than thirty years ago.

I know the code to my parent's garage is 0424, but I don't remember why. I know that a cafeteria lunch is $2.25 and to be avoided at all costs except on taco day. I know the Gatorade machine in front of the gym is always out of blue, and eats dollar bills so you have to use quarters, which I know I keep in the third zip pocket of my gym bag for exactly this reason. I know that apparently my locker is located six down on the right from my morning homeroom and that the combination is 08-63-14. I had become aware of this interesting and useful fact when, completely distracted by a rather colorful conversation between _cringe _Rosalie and Mac, I had found myself shoving my textbooks into I locker I had no knowledge of previously.

But, perhaps the most enlightening of all of these oddities must be the newly earned lesson of not throwing a wrench in the proverbial system. I had practically stumbled to the field after school, panicking heartily of the thought of ruining everything by becoming 'suddenly' incapable of even the most basic of my teammates expectations. To my great astonishment, my body, my subconscious, the kid's merciful and loving god took complete control and with minimal effort on my part I was alongside my team as if I actually had been doing this everyday for the last few decades. He called a play and I ran it. He called a drill and I fell in line. It was only when I began thinking through what I was actually doing that I would be hurled to the ground with a force to kill a lesser man. After only a very few of these instances, I managed to distract myself with theories of cellular memories, alternate dimensions and listing the multitude of psychological conditions I could attribute every moment of this day to, that I was able to let myself do what I had apparently known to do. And stop throwing a wrench in the system.

I am hurriedly throwing on my street clothes and attempting to ignore the extremely irritated janitor who had so graciously informed me I was entitled to only fifteen minutes post practice to nurse my wounds. As I run my hand through my still wet hair I can't help but wonder, discrediting all aforementioned psychological conditions, if this was a carefully constructed lesson from the kid to teach me to trust…well…myself, I suppose. More than that, I can't seem to decide, if that is genuinely the case, am I grateful for the assistance or concerned that I apparently do not have complete and total control over every part of myself.

Consumed in my thoughts I let the residual knowledge of my eighteen year old self guide me through the maze of school buildings and back to my baby. I reach the parking lot quickly, distracted by my suddenly missing keys, I don't even realize how immune I am to my surroundings until a loudly screamed four letter word scares me badly enough to make me jump and drop my bags. I look up in time to see a rather red faced and animated Bella something kicking her ancient truck's tire in effigy.

Not so hopeful and smug now, are we?

I grab my bags from the blacktop and make my way over. Why am I doing this? What do I say to her? I know damn well I can't fix that thing. Not only does it look like it should have been put out of its misery decades ago, but as I had learned in the days of the great mustang restoration anything beyond changing the battery is out of my league. I should, at the very least offer her a ride home. That would be the proper thing to do. But why does that make me feel like a perverted old man luring a sweet young girl into my car? Oh that's right, because apparently I am a perverted old man about to lure a sweet young girl into my car.

"A little trouble?" I call over to her with a chuckle.

"Yeah, you could say that," she replies, not even looking to meet my gaze. She looks so angry and it is adorable the way her face is all scrunched and red from her assault. "It won't start."

"Well, I would offer to take a look at it," I admit with the patented Masen smirk, I will get some reaction from this girl if it kills me, "but my mechanical expertise doesn't reach back to when engines were comprised of rocks and sticks. Unless of course this is an original Flintsones edition in which case it won't start until you get in and use your feet."

"This from the guy that drives a '66," she retorts with a narrowed gaze and a head tilt towards my baby.

"You know my car?" I manage through my shock. Will this girl ever stop surprising me?

"Please," she snorts, finally meeting my eyes, "I know Rosalie, who lusts after your car almost as much as she lusts after Emmett."

I can't help but laugh at the truth in that as I walk closer to her. My car was the only common interest I had ever shared with Rosalie besides Mac.

"And speaking of Rosalie and lusting after Emmett, she won't pick up her phone," she continues, "I was hoping it was something obvious so I wouldn't be forced to call anyone else."

"Well, let's take a look at it." I announce with a confident swagger toward the precursor to modern transportation, while my common sense is screaming that I am bound to make a complete ass of myself unless there is an engine part waving a white flag and begging for mercy.

She pops the hood and I think I am making a decent show of knowing what I'm looking for but decide to engage her in a little more teasing just in case I'm not as convincing as I think I am.

"You really should consider another car," I say as I poke cluelessly around various inner workings, "you know, maybe something built in your parent's lifetime?"

"Ha ha ha, you're a funny guy," she quips dryly as she steps up on the bumper and joins me under the rust encrusted piece of metal she claims as a hood. "I love this truck, it's a classic."

"My car is a classic," I reply attempting to cover my increasing panic as something small and metal comes off in my hand. "This thing is a relic," I add as I hastily try to jam the little piece back into whatever hole it may have come out of.

"It's a classic," she insists, "They don't make vehicles like this anymore."

"Have you ever stopped to consider there might be a reason for that?" I taunt as I try desperately to free my hand from the small space I have apparently gotten myself trapped into, all the while composing my features into the mask of a man that actually knows what he's doing.

"This thing is a tank; you can't buy that kind of safety now. It's vintage, it's hardworking and no matter what breaks it can always be fixed, usually in a matter of minutes, well for Rosalie at least. It's one of a kind." She ends her adoration of the junk-that-does-not run with a smile.

"It's incontinent," I add to her list with a smirk, holding up my still throbbing and now grease stained hand as evidence, sans small metal piece that fits nowhere, which is now wandering around somewhere under the hood or perhaps on the pavement underneath. I can only hope it isn't important, or at the very least Rosalie won't realize I touched this thing at all, or she'll never let me live it down.

I hop down from the bumper and walk over to my gym bag where I pull out an old t shirt and try to rid myself of the hundred year old grease covering my hands.

"C'mon, I'll give you a ride home, there is nothing I can do without the right tools." Or at all, I add to myself. "And there's no telling how long Rosalie will be _indisposed_, and it will be getting dark soon. Plus, I can show you what a real classic looks like," I add with another careful smirk in her direction. Once again she appears completely unaffected as she looks back and forth between me and the behemoth. What the hell? Is she a lesbian? The only girl to not give me any sort of attention was that pretty little brunette admin that apparently 'doesn't do men'. Maybe that's it. At the very least that would explain how I never really spent time with her in high school. I'll have to make a point to ask Jas, Alice is sure to know.

"Alright," she finally concedes. "But only 'cause I'm desperate," she adds with a look of resignation as she starts towards the Mustang. I am momentarily stunned. So I know she is a little unusual, definitely unexpected and possibly a lesbian, but that was not only rude but also a hit to my pride. Am I really so bad she'll only get into a car with me out of desperation? Why the fuck do I even care what she thinks about me? She is a girl, a little girl and I am technically old enough to be her father. It can't matter, it doesn't matter. Then what the hell is her problem? I didn't have to help her, okay so pretend to help her or offer her a ride home I could have just gone to my car and left her there kicking the tire on that stupid piece of shit like the toddler she apparently is and…

"Masen relax," she offers with a laugh and a smile as she passes by me. "I was only kidding jeez, you dish it out but you can't take it?" she asks with a cocky little grin and raised eyebrows.

The sun setting behind her makes her hair look almost reddish combined with the big innocent doe eyes raised in a challenge and the soft curves of her jaw, she shoulders and her breasts in the simple white t shirt she is wearing I am momentarily captivated by the simple classic beauty of the woman before me.

No, no, the girl, the _girl _before me. I take a breath and shake my head to clear the incredibly inappropriate fantasies of even just touching her and flash her a false crooked grin as I fight the urge to take her backpack or even open her door and practically dash to the driver seat and rev the engine all the while chanting _'you are an old man and she is a lesbian'_ over and over in my head. I am not attracted to this girl. I'm not. At all. Being attracted to her is wrong, very, very, very wrong. I pull out of my parking space and continue my mantra while frantically rolling down my window to get her flowery, sweet, fruity smell the hell away from my raging and apparently incontrollable teenaged hormones.

I follow her directions towards her house and try to distract myself by searching any available memory for this girl's last name. It was an animal I think, something strange enough to be funny in the context of her policeman father. Officer Pig? That is pretty funny. No, no nothing like that, not that funny. Officer…Labrador? Skunk? Um, Officer… no, not officer, Chief! He was the Chief of police and the one that arrested – or I suppose will arrest- Emmett later on this year when he decides to declare his undying love of Rosalie with fluorescent pink spray paint on the water tower. So Chief then, Chief what? Chief Bird! That's it Bird. Bella Bird!

No, that can't possibly be right; no one could be that cruel to their child. Bird, bird, dove, pigeon, duck? Chief Duck? Chief Goose? I chew on the inside of my cheek as I spare a quick glance at Bella Some-sort-of-bird out of the corner of my eye. She has her head resting in her hand against the window, her soft jaw line tipped up as if she is looking at the clouds but her eyes are closed as she quietly sings along to the song on the radio. Her hair is swept over her shoulder and her pale neck is exposed to me from her ear all the way down to the hint of her collarbone peeking out from the shifted v neck in her white shirt. I cringe and stifle a groan gripping the shifter painfully as I fight back the incredibly unwelcome thought of my face pressed against her bare neck, my nose in her hair breathing in her Bella smell as she…

"Swan!" I shout out making us both jump in our seats.

She shoots me a confused pointed glance as she covers her heart with her hand and tries to come down from my unintentional scare. "What?" she manages.

"Swan," I repeat, feeling my ears burn as I beg the powers that be for a sinkhole large enough to swallow me whole. "Your last name, I uh… couldn't remember it," I admit completely mortified.

"And you didn't ask…" she trails off still eyeing me warily.

"I didn't want to come off as a complete asshole for not remembering," I admit in a very uncharacteristic weak voice as I still feel the burning in my ears and the desire to completely disappear.

"Yeah," she snorts with a shake of her head, "'Cause screaming out 'Swan' randomly makes you come off so much better."

I can't hold back the genuine chuckle at that as I silently mourn the fact I never spent any time with this girl when I had the chance.

I pull into her driveway, grateful her father's cruiser is nowhere to be seen.

"Well, thanks for the ride home," she offers. "And thanks for looking at the truck even though you had no idea what you were looking for," she adds with an amused grin that makes me reflexively smile in response.

"Huh? What do you mean?" I stumble when her words sink in.

"Rosalie, remember?" Is her only answer and I find myself blushing for the second time in five minutes as I plot out fifty ways to kill Rosalie for blabbing about my mechanical skills, or apparent lack of them to the whole damn school.

"It was sweet anyway," she adds looking suddenly shy. Sweet? She thinks I'm sweet?

She leans in toward me and my breath catches and I freeze, warring with what I want, no what I _need_ and what is right. I can't, I can't just lean over, just once and place my lips on the space below her ear that had been taunting me only moments before. I can't, I will not taste her full lips under mine. But I can, she is right here and she wants…

I am pulled from the civil war between my hormones and my conscience when I realize she was only leaning over to pull her backpack from the backseat. I blow out the breath I had been holding and cringe yet again as I become aware of the fact that I am apparently a presumptuous ass in addition to a perverted old man, hopeless mechanic, and suffering from Tourette's.

I reach behind me and pull up her backpack for her and hand it over. She makes motion to reach for the door handle but turns back and her perfect brown eyes meet mine again.

"Thank you, Edward," she says softly and sincerely and I can't help but think there is something more than a thank you buried in the depths of her eyes. And my name, not a sarcastic 'Masen', but my name falling from those full pink lips, sends a shock to my heart and it races in response.

"Anytime, Bella," I reply, still not moving my eyes from the trance she is holding me in. My words layered with every desire, every offer I know I could never let myself act upon. She gives me one more small and perfect Bella smile before opening the door and heading up her walkway towards the house.

I pull away and as my mind and hormones are running circles around me I am entirely too aware of three things.

First, this girl, Bella is sarcastic, and sharp and witty and completely not intimidated by me at all. And she strong and funny and beautiful and I am so much more attracted to her than I even want to admit to myself. And worse than that I am as smitten with her as the school boy I still, technically at least, am. And, I should surely burn in hell for eternity for the myriad of things running through my mind.

Second, for the love of all things holy, I need to stay the fuck away from Bella Swan and her wit, and her smile, and her lips and her fucking collarbones before I ruin everything.

Finally, I need a drink, a real drink. And I need it very fucking badly.

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I join my mother for dinner and wolf down her pot roast like I have never eaten before. She tries to engage me in the usual post-first-day-of-school conversation. But after receiving nothing more than a few uh-huh or nuh-uh responses doled out around mouthfuls of the very first home cooked meal I have had since her stroke, she ends up just staring at me while I eat with a look that clearly expresses her wonder in where the hell I have managed to leave the table manners she spent eighteen years beating into me.

After I have attempted to eat my body weight in beef, I help her with the dishes while praising her meal and giving her the generic first-day answers she was waiting for. Dishes done, I settle back to the kitchen table to run through the mind numbing reading I had been assigned while she reads the latest book for her neighborhood book club. I barely contain my snort when she picks up a copy of Dusk identical to Bella's still in my backpack. I speed through the rest of my work struggling to let modern European history block out the thoughts of forbidden reddish brown hair, white t shirts and cocky grins.

With a kiss to my mother's forehead, I head up to bed at the ridiculous hour of 10 pm, hoping the absence of my usual ambien won't keep me from pleasant dreams.

Of forbidden fruit.

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Four hours of tossing and turning with a hard on that will not quit later, I finally give up on sleep and head down to the only place in the house I'm sure to find what I'm looking for. I creep down the hall past my mother's bedroom, pausing only long enough to ensure the TV and lights are off. I instinctually avoid the squeaky step and turn left towards my father's office. My heart is racing as I walk slowly towards the door and I freeze when my hand rests on the handle remembering the last time I had stood here, young and stupid and determined and desperate to make him understand.

I take a deep breath and inch the door open as if I really expect him to be there as he was before, standing beside his desk chair, scotch in his hand, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he glares down at the desk top with a look I had then believed was anger. Now I remember him in that instant, I remember that look and see only frustration, desperation equal to what mine had been and sadness. Memory father snaps his head up at the slight squeak of the door hinge and instantly his face becomes the blank and controlled mask of indifference I had known so well.

I had always believed him cold, uncaring. There was never emotion, never passion. Only control, logic, planning out five moves ahead, regimented. No smiles, no laughter. And I hated him for it. I used to call him the robot, never to his face, of course. And he was. He was a brilliant lawyer and he lived for his work. He was a machine, and the irony pains me.

Still holding the doorknob in my hand, door still cracked, I debate for the hundredth time if this is really worth it. I may want the scotch badly, but there are ghosts I don't need to face, memories I do not need to relive. I have not seen this room since that night. In the years I would visit my mother I would avoid this closed door like the plague. When she had passed I had hired a company to clean the house out and prepare it for sale. Besides the items she specifically left to anyone in her will, I had them rid of everything – to the dump, to goodwill, I never even bothered to ask. I kept nothing.

One more deep breath and I know I'm not sleeping tonight anyway, so what the fuck. I turn the handle and stand in the doorway breathing in the smell of my father's study. It still smells like him, the leather from his chair and the couch in the corner tainted by the residual stink of his cigars mixed by the faintest hint of his cologne.

…_Damn it Edward, you are only seventeen, you have a whole life ahead of you to consider…_

I shake my head to clear the ghosts of his words and reach over to the desk to turn on the lamp. I walk over to his chair and spin it to face me and release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding when I find it empty.

…_You don't know what you're saying, what you're doing... Do you have any idea how many would kill for these opportunities…_

I push past his chair to the shelves in the corner. I blow the dust off the glass and grab the decanter from the top shelf. I pour myself a generous double and make motion to go around the desk to head for the door when I am distracted by the photos he had displayed there.

… _You can't let the dreams of eight year old boys ruin your future… so much promise… You can't just throw it all away Edward; I won't let you throw it away…_

The first one is of my parents on their wedding day, and despite how much it kills me to still be in this room, I can't hold back the smile. She is swept up in his arms, radiant, glorious smile on her face with her head thrown back in laughter. And the mask is gone, his face is as alight as hers, he…he adores her. He looks like he just won the goddamn lottery. They shine with love, with happiness I never saw from him.

…_What you want? ...What you want!?!?....Jesus Christ you are just a child how the hell do you know what you want? _

I grab the next one off the desk and hear something fall to the floor, but I am too distracted by my own eyes to care much at the moment. It's me, my school photo from my junior year, the last one he was alive to see. I have a big dopey smile on my face and a light still in my eyes with the stupid forks high backdrop. I have to snort at how young I look in that picture, just a child, no fucking kidding dad.

…_I'll start treating you like a man when you start acting like one…_

Well, that is certainly enough for one night I think to myself as I grab my stolen scotch off the desk and reach for the light. I see the edge of whatever I knocked over peeking out from behind the desk. I bend down to pick it up and freeze still bent over. How did I not remember this picture?

_You think Dan is going to stand for this? … Whit, maybe but not Dan, that boy has division one written all over him. You think for one second he'll let him pass that up?_

I'm 10 maybe 12. I'm sitting in the soapbox car we built together. I have the helmet on, the one he painted red like the flash with the same lightning bolts going down the sides, and I am wearing my asshole sunglasses, even then, at ten and in the garage. I remember that car, I remember that race and every time it rains I remember the fucking broken arm I got from the crash. I remember that he had to work that day and the fight between my parents over it the night before. But these are not the things that have me hunched over trying to catch my breath. It's him. It is my father in the background of the picture. He's leaning against the work bench, hands in his pockets, feet crossed. And he is looking at me, looking at me in the car that he, my lawyer father who could barely wield a hammer, slaved over with me by his side.

Looking at me…like he just won the motherfucking lottery…

_Do you want to get yourself killed? Is that what this is about? 'cause for the life of me son, I can't think of a single other reason you would do this…_

I sit on the floor of his study and just stare at him, stare at my father as he looks at his son with nothing but pride and … love.

I was so young, so stubborn, and so stupid.

_Please Edward, be reasonable! Why can you not see I want more for you, better for you than this?_

"I don't hate you." I tell his picture more than thirty years too late. "I never hated you. I…I was so young, I… didn't know." By now my vision is blurry and the picture is shaking along with my hands.

"You were right. I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry…Dad."

Why would I not have the chance to tell him? Four months, Thirty four years and I couldn't get four extra months? Why could I not get the chance to make this right? It's not fair, not fair. It started with him, it all started with him. Why can't I fix this? Why can't I have him back?

I want him back.

I don't realize how hard I am sobbing until my mother rushes in the room in her nightgown, falls to the floor beside me and throws her arms around my shoulders.

I try to choke back the unrelenting sobs as I realize I am in the midst of what I had sworn to never do. She is hurting so badly, I had promised myself I would never burden her with my pain. I would be strong for her, and here I am curled on the floor crying like a child.

"Shhhhh…" she soothes me as she rubs small circles on my back. "Its okay baby, let it out, it's okay, I want him back too," she croons as she reaches down and manages to pull me up enough to hold me.

She rocks me on the floor and rubs circles on my back as the floodgates fall completely and thirty years of pain and regret and loss pour from me as I cry the first tears I have ever cried over my father, who died thinking his only son hated him and didn't live long enough to be proud. I cry for her, my poor mother who lost the love of her life to fate and her son to his regrets. I cry for Jas who never had the chance to live, and for I cry for Alice who buried every piece of her heart and the light in her eyes with him. I sob for Mac whose guilt ate at him until it led him to throw his life away and Rosalie who was left with only with loss and so much anger in his wake. I cry self indulgent tears for the stubborn boy that thought he knew better and the cold and lonely empty man he became. I shed every tear I had ever held in and mourn every life I had lost.

My throat is raw and painful and my eyes are so swollen I can barely keep them open when hours later, the tears finally stop coming. She continues to hold be as I calm and I feel even worse for the fact I had broken my promise to myself and laid more pain on her weary shoulders.

"I'm sorry," I whisper through the gravel in my throat. "I'm so sorry you saw that."

She turns me so I have no choice to but to meet her watery eyes and I feel even worse.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she states in a stern voice that shocks me. "I've been waiting for you to be ready to break down and I'm glad that I can be here to help you through it. This is what families do Edward; they help each other through. They mourn together. I didn't want to push you and hoped you would come to me when you were ready to work through it." She gives me a lingering kiss to the forehead. "I love you, Edward. And we will make it through this together."

_Together, we'll make it through this together._

I had left her in peace so she would not suffer more because of me, and all of this time she had needed me to lean on her as much as I needed her to lean on me.

"We will," I whisper back, "together. I love you too mom."

We sit for another few minutes; until I hear her yawn and I rise to my feet and offer her my hand. I pull her up beside me and give her one more hug and 'I love you' before ushering her to the door. I reach over and arrange all of his pictures back the way they were, before grabbing my abandoned scotch and raising it.

"To second chances," I whisper to myself as I throw back the scotch and reach for the light. I leave his office door open on the way out, the door and the room no longer just a reminder of the regrets I carry. I climb into my bed exhausted and fall into an easy sleep. Dreaming of my father and Jas and Mac and their girls, of my mother and Bella and me with a smile on my face reveling in the way it should have been.

.

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Okay, so Cpl. John Todd III was a guy I went to high school with and a marine that never got to step foot back onto American soil. I thought it would be a nice tribute to put him in here.

I have nothing but the upmost respect and appreciation for the men and women that serve this country. I hope nothing I write in regards to such will be controversial. There will be quite a bit more involving the Marines is this story line, but I am in no way using this story to share my beliefs on anything political, Military or war related. Just so you know.

Sooooooo, there are quite a few big hints here about what has happened to E and the guys. Any therories?


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